The Guardian
by Windsong
Summary: Young!Ethan/Lyra. A Champion's only as good as the cause he fights for; she was the one who arrived, but he was the one who left.


**Title:** The Guardian  
**Rating:** G  
**Word Count:** 3,914  
**Genre:** Romance, Slice-of-Life, Fluff  
**Warnings:** uber WAFF to the max, you may get diabetes  
**Summary:** Young!Ethan/Lyra. A Champion's only as good as the cause he fights for. (She was the one who arrived, but he was the one who left.)  
**Disclaimer:** _Pokémon_ isn't mine.  
**Author's Notes:** My half of my fic trade with Ibuberu! Anyone else wanna do a fic trade? Just drop me a line on my LJ account; there's a link in my profile.

* * *

"There's a new little girl moving here," his mother informed him one morning as she settled his backpack on his small shoulders. "I've been friends with her mother for a long time. You'll probably see her at school soon, so look out for her, okay? Make sure she settles in all right." He nodded, his face serious and sincere in the way that only children can look.

When the young girl stepped through the door the next day, she was a lot smaller than he'd been expecting—_And_, he couldn't help but wonder, _how do her pigtails float like that?_ "This is Lyra," the teacher said to his third-grade class. "She's living in New Bark Town with us now, so give her a big hello!"

"Hello," they echoed, sounding more dutiful than welcoming.

Lyra's eyes scanned the room and settled on his face. Suddenly, she smiled, and Ethan felt something in his chest squeeze. "Hello," she replied, cheerful and a little nervous.

She ended up being placed in the same spot Ethan had claimed last year. He was pleased at that, because it was a great seat: right by the windows and not too close to the front of the room, almost in the teacher's blind spot. He'd been pretty mad when he'd had to leave it, but now it made him feel proud, like he'd done it on purpose, clearing the way for her—watching out for her, like his mother had said.

It was hard for him to concentrate, because he kept trying to watch Lyra out of the corner of his eye. Finally, the teacher threw an eraser at his head and made him stay inside during lunch. From his seat he couldn't see the courtyard, so instead he bounced his leg, shifted in his seat, couldn't keep his eyes focused anywhere.

"What's gotten into you?" the teacher said. "Is something wrong?" He shook his head furiously, his eyes inching towards the clouds drifting past the window.

When the other students came back inside, Ethan's eyes widened; Lyra shuffled in last, rubbing her red-rimmed eyes. She had scrapes on her hands and knees, and her white hat was now an uncertain shade of gray. When she met his gaze, she didn't smile this time—instead, she just ducked her head and hurried to her seat.

The teacher frowned when he saw her. "What happened?"

"She fell, sir," another boy said. "We offered to take her to the nurse, but she said she was fine."

"Really." He looked to Lyra for confirmation, but she just stared at her desk. When the teacher eventually turned to the blackboard, the boy gave a surreptitious high five to the student behind him, and Ethan's hands clenched into fists.

When classes were over, she was the first out the door, practically running, and Ethan leaped to his feet and chased her down, leaving his hat and bag behind. "Wait, wait!" he yelled down the hall, but she ignored it; fortunately, he was bigger than her, and caught up just as she reached the front doors.

"Wait," he gasped, lunging to grab her wrist. She turned back to look at him with wide eyes, and the huge grin on his face seemed to startle her. "I'm Ethan," he said.

She blinked at him, barely out of breath. "...I'm Lyra," she said, and he knew that already, but it didn't matter.

"Nice to meet you," he said, and her face slowly broke into a smile.

"It's—it's nice to meet you too!"

She left soon afterwards, and Ethan went back to the classroom to gather his things. Pressing his nose against the window, he watched as she hurried through the front gates. At least he'd made her smile.

Later that night, he imagined her parents washing her hat and clothing, maybe admonishing her for being so clumsy. He wondered if they would realize, but he didn't think they would; grown-ups were kind of slow sometimes.

This was going to be up to him, like his mother had said.

**o-o-o**

The next morning, Ethan waited in front of Lyra's house, sleepily chewing on a piece of toast. He snapped to attention and stuffed the last bit into his mouth when her door swung open.

"Lyra!" he cried, and she nearly tripped as she stepped outside.

"E-Ethan?"

A woman appeared behind Lyra, wiping her hands on her apron. "Ah, so you've already made a friend!" Then she peered more closely; "No...you couldn't be Maria's boy, could you?" He nodded, beaming, and she clapped her hands together. "Why, look at you!"

Lyra looked confused. "Don't you remember?" her mother asked; Lyra shook her head, and the woman smiled. "I'll explain later—you're going to be late if you don't hurry. Be good, you two!" she called as she shut the door.

"Your mom and my mom are really old friends," Ethan told her as they walked to school.

"You _knew?_"

He shrugged. "I think you did too."

"I forgot," she mumbled, and he laughed.

As they walked, Lyra told him that her mother wanted to do research with Professor Elm, and that they had come from an island across the sea. They'd moved in with her uncle and his son, but it was really just her and her mom, and Ethan grinned. "Me too!" he said excitedly, and she started to smile, but when she looked past him, it dropped from her face.

When Ethan turned, a gaggle of boys blocked the school's entrance. "No foreigners allowed," said the leader, the same boy from yesterday. Lyra took a step back and Ethan automatically moved in front of her, scowling.

"She lives here," he snapped.

"That don't mean she's not a freak," one of the boys shot back.

"Her hat is stupid," yelled a third, and that started a flurry of complaints; her hair was weird, only nerds wore overalls, her face was ugly and she was too small. Lyra clutched her hat down over her ears and glared back at the boys, and Ethan's eyes flashed.

_"Shut up!"_ he cried as he threw himself at the nearest boy with a wild punch, and they both fell to the ground. The other boys jumped on top and Ethan vanished into the pile, yelling at the top of his lungs; "Leave her _alone,_ you—" but Lyra never heard the rest; instead, she launched herself into the fight, yelling for them all to stop and trying to pull the other boys off her new friend. Her would-be protector shouted as she was dragged into the pile, trying to fight his way over to her and failing; his world narrowed to flying fists and flailing limbs, bruises and aches and cuts, until he felt himself yanked off his feet by a large hand.

"What's the meaning of this?" their teacher demanded, holding the ringleader in his other hand. Ethan said nothing, just breathing hard and looking at Lyra. Her lip had been split, cuts littered her skin, and her clothing was a mess. Some of the other boys were worse off, and he didn't want to know what he looked like himself.

After a minute of silence, the teacher put them down and folded his arms. "Detention. _All_ of you," he said, and Lyra gasped. "Every lunchtime for a month, you understand? Now hurry and go to the nurse," he told them. "The rest of the class is waiting for you."

In the infirmary, Lyra sat silently next to him, anxiously holding his hand as he leaned back and put ice on his eye. "You should take care of that," he said, gesturing awkwardly to the scratches on her arms. "And, um...I'm sorry."

Her brow furrowed. "What?"

"You got hurt," he said. "I was trying to help you, but I didn't think the rest of them were going to jump me like that! You saved me, so thanks."

His jaw dropped when he saw tears forming in her eyes. "W-what, what's wrong?" Then he realized that was a stupid question.

"You're an _idiot,_" she cried.

"Hey!"

"Idiot! You didn't have to fight with them and—"

"Lyra—"

"And—" she hiccuped, "now you're hurt, and it's my fault! I'm sorry, I—"

"Hey, calm down," he said, tugging on her hand. He tried to give her a reassuring smile, but winced at the pain. "I'm still here."

She pouted, but relaxed a little as he squeezed her fingers. "You're stupid," she grumbled, but the heat had left her voice.

"Stop saying that," he said, starting to get faintly annoyed, but then she sniffled and threw her arms around him.

**o-o-o**

Later, when the two of them walked home, their linked hands swung back and forth as they chattered about their lives. They talked about TV shows and favorite hobbies; Ethan was desperate for a bike while Lyra was satisfied with her pair of running shoes, but they both liked chasing flocks of Pidgey and fishing for Magikarp. He began to tell her about the Pokémon trainers he'd seen on TV, and how much he wanted to be like them, but when he started talking her eyes dimmed and she turned away. Instead, he changed the topic to favorite Pokémon—Sentret for her, Charizard for him (just like the champion's, but he didn't say that).

"Spinarak is pretty cute too," she said dreamily.

_"Spinarak?"_

"You don't like them?"

"But—but you're a girl," he said, flabbergasted.

She giggled, then looked up in surprise at her house. "Oh! We're here already."

"See you tomorrow, all right?" he said. Her cheeks dimpled as she smiled.

"See you!"

He watched her trot inside, then ran home, grinning. He couldn't sleep that night, too excited by the thought of showing Lyra all his favorite places and hideouts, the ones he swore he'd never tell anyone about.

**o-o-o**

Time passed. They slept over at each other's houses, played video games and hide-and-seek; Ethan's mother got used to making more food than usual, just in case Lyra stayed over (which she usually did). When the teasing inevitably began—_E-than and Ly-ra, sitting in a tree_—they laughed it off, or when that didn't work, got into more fights, and eventually the bullying stopped (although the whispers didn't). Although they both developed some reputation as delinquents, they didn't seem to mind; they were too busy camping in Lyra's backyard, catching fireflies until they fell over, exhausted, to watch the stars.

After two years, Lyra began following her mother to work, and soon became one of Elm's assistants. The first time she brought home Marill, Ethan hung back, remembering the warnings to never play in the tall grass.

"Come on, he won't bite," Lyra smiled. Eventually he reached out and gave it an experimental pat, surprised by how soft it was. "See? Now you're friends," she said, and he almost retorted that it wasn't that easy, but then he remembered how they'd met—grabbing her hand as she tried to flee—and maybe it was when Lyra was involved.

Seeing her with the Marill made him start to remember his old dreams and the stories he'd grown up with—catching Pokémon, challenging Gym Leaders and seeing the world. He'd dreamed of becoming a Pokémon trainer since before he could remember, just like everyone else, but Lyra's arrival had made it seem less urgent; there were so many reasons to stay, and no good reason to leave. But now he watched her sit on his bedroom floor and play with her Marill, and he felt lonely. He hadn't felt that way in a long time.

And if she could get a Pokémon...maybe he could, too.

"I want to be a Pokémon trainer," he said, trying the words on his tongue, and she froze.

"You do?"

"Yeah," he said, after a pause. "Ever since I was really little. I just...never told anyone."

She was silent for a moment, and he smiled, relieved that he'd finally told her his last secret.

"...Who'd want to do that?" she finally burst out, and a hurt look flashed across his face.

"What? You're a trainer yourself, you've got—"

"I'll _never_ be a trainer!" she cried, jumping to her feet. "Trainers are horrible, they don't care about anybody—they fight and then they _leave!_"

"Hey, hey! What's all the racket?" Ethan's mother asked, poking her head in the door. Two tears slipped down the girl's flushed cheeks before she sprinted past them both. A second later, he heard the door slam.

Ethan stared at his mother, feeling shell-shocked. "...I don't know," he said.

When he told his mother what happened over dinner, she quietly explained that Lyra's father had been a trainer himself, and had left home when Lyra was six and disappeared. He didn't sleep that night, tossing and turning as his mind swirled with thoughts. He felt like a self-absorbed fool. He'd sworn to protect her. How was he going to do that and travel the world at the same time? He couldn't imagine asking her to come along, especially after tonight; she obviously didn't want to go anywhere. But being a trainer had always been his dream, and the thought of staying in New Bark Town forever made it hard to breathe.

When Lyra met him at his door the next day, she frowned at the dark circles under his eyes. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," he mumbled, halfheartedly gnawing a piece of toast, as always. They walked in silence for a while, then:

"I'm sorry about last night," she mumbled. "I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"I'm sorry I brought it up," he said; she gave him a startled glance. "Mom told me about your dad," he confirmed softly.

"Oh," she said, starting to turn away. He stopped and reached out to grab her hands.

"Listen. I'm not going anywhere, okay? I mean, if you don't want me to." She stared at him with wide eyes, and he sighed. "Lyra, I mean...you're my best friend. You're more important than some old Pokémon anyway."

A slow smile spread across her face, and she hugged him fiercely, squeezing the breath from his lungs.

**o-o-o**

A few months passed, and Ethan tried not to think about it, although he couldn't help but feel a twinge in his his heart whenever she brought her blue Pokémon around. The two were practically inseparable, and Marill would whine piteously when she left for school and tackle her with glee when she came home in the afternoon. He started toying with the idea of asking Professor Elm for a Pokémon for himself; not to _train,_ of course, just to have one, like she had Marill.

When he'd proposed the idea to her, however, she shook her head. They were in his room again, and Marill bounced eagerly at her feet, begging for another round of hide-and-seek.

"Elm's Pokémon are research subjects," she explained. "I'm just taking care of Marill; he's not mine. The professor doesn't really give them to anybody." He nodded, trying not to look disappointed, but she patted his shoulder anyway. "Do you want to play with him for a while?" she offered, and he shook his head. The Pokémon only had eyes for her, and practically ignored everyone else. Besides, he didn't want to play with Marill, as if it were some sort of consolation prize.

To be honest, he didn't want it around at all.

"...Are you _jealous?_" Lyra asked incredulously, and he looked up, shocked.

"What? No!"

"You are, aren't you?" she said, leaning forwards and pushing the cap out of his eyes so she could see his face clearly. "You _are!_"

"I'm not!" he cried, but she was already laughing at him. "Stop, it's not funny!" At the note of real anger in his voice, she stopped, looking surprised.

"Sorry," she said, but he didn't seem to hear it.

"Why are you always bringing it around, anyway?" he snapped.

"He's not an 'it,' Marill's a _he_—"

"I don't care! It's never just us anymore. I don't like it!"

"You don't like Marill?" she said with surprise.

"I hate that stupid thing!" he yelled, his hands balling into fists, "And I hate how you say you hate trainers when you're practically one yourself! You're just a big hypocrite!"

"I am not!" she shouted back, getting to her feet.

"Are too! Hypocrite, hypocri—!" The room echoed with the slap, and Lyra's eyes filled with angry—but this time, unshed—tears.

"I hate you," she whispered before marching out of the room.

Ethan brought a shaking hand to his cheek. Marill was still standing in the center of the room, glaring at him.

"...Sorry," he told it, because Lyra wasn't there. It raised its nose in the air before leaving the room as well, closing the door behind it.

He groaned and threw himself onto his bed, burying his face into one of his pillows.

**o-o-o**

They didn't speak for a few days after that, and their mothers were worried but said nothing; they were bound to have a big fight like this eventually, they reasoned. It was just how friendships worked.

Ethan sat on the windowsill, his math textbook forgotten in his lap as he stared at the Pidgey in his backyard. Who was he kidding? He would never be a trainer, anyway. He didn't have any Poké Balls—he didn't even have a net—and Professor Elm wouldn't give him a starter, so he was stuck. Besides, what was more important? Lyra or Pokémon? He was ten already, practically a teenager; he was supposed to start prioritizing, right?

"Hey," he heard from behind him, and he nearly fell to the floor in surprise. "Sorry," Lyra said as he righted himself. "Um. I just...hi," she finished lamely, looking concerned when she saw his bleak expression.

"Hi," he mumbled.

"Are you okay?"

He shrugged.

"I'm sorry for hitting you," she said, stepping closer to him.

"I'm sorry I said that stuff. I didn't mean it," he said, looking away from her. The Pidgey had flown off, leaving the backyard empty.

"That's not true," she replied softly, and his spine stiffened.

"Yeah, it is," he protested, "I don't hate your Marill, you're not a hypo—"

"It's okay," she interrupted, and he sunk into silence. "Ethan. Look at me?" She waited until he did, her lips pressed together nervously. "You really want to be a Pokémon trainer, don't you?"

He scowled. "It doesn't matter."

"No, it does!" she said, placing her hands on his shoulders and looking him in the eye. "I'm sorry," she told him. "And I don't want to hold you back. You're my best friend too."

She waited for a reply, but he just looked to the side, frowning.

"So, um. I asked Professor Elm if he would give you a Pokémon—" Ethan's head snapped up so fast he almost hit her in the nose.

_"What?"_

"—And he said he would give you one if you helped him with his research, because he wants to make sure you're going to take good care of it. I told him you would be great, but he's a little funny, he didn't believe me." She bit her lip, watching as Ethan struggled between looking upset and overjoyed.

"But you hate trainers," he said, and she gave him a wavery half-smile.

"But I like you. And you _love_ Pokémon. If anyone can be a good trainer...the best...it would be you."

He threw his arms around her, and she hugged him back, and both of them pretended not to notice when the other person sniffled.

**o-o-o**

It was his first night alone. He'd spent the day getting the okay from his mother and Professor Elm, double-checking the directions to Mr. Pokémon's house, and bidding Lyra an awkward farewell. They hadn't hugged, and she tried to act distant, like everything was ordinary, but he thought she had been crying the night before, and he couldn't help but feel guilty.

Finally, he'd taken his first real steps towards his dream with his Cyndaquil bouncing at his heels. _Cyndaquil._ He just couldn't believe it; he had a fire-type and he was going to raise it to be powerful and tough, just like the champion's Charizard. Every time he looked down at his companion, it made his dreams seem a little closer.

He'd been able to push through to Cherrygrove city, but he couldn't find a place to sleep and ended up curling up inside an abandoned barn. His Pokémon cuddled close beside him, keeping them both warm with its soft flames. This was all he'd ever wanted, he thought. He was really going to see the world. But when he turned to lie on his back, he could see the stars through a hole in the roof, and it reminded him of Lyra's backyard, of fireflies and soft grass and whispers in the dark.

He opened his Pokégear, but realized he didn't know her number: when you saw someone every day, you didn't need to call them much. He called his mother instead, exchanged a quiet goodnight, and curled into the hay, trying to sleep.

His phone rang again a few minutes later, and he jumped. He scrambled for the phone, picked up and held it eagerly to his ear. "Hello?"

"Ethan! Your mother just called me. How are you doing?"

At the sound of Lyra's voice, he started to smile so hard that it hurt. He could tell that the cheer in her voice was mostly fake, but he ignored it, because he knew she'd want him to. "I'm great!" he said instead. "I'm outside Cherrygrove in an old barn."

"Cherrygrove already! In a _barn?_" He could hear her tapping her pencil; he must have been in the middle of transcribing some of Elm's notes. "The owners must be nice!"

"No, I think it's abandoned." It was a warm summer night, and the hay he was lying on smelled musty and sweet. "Hey, remember when we used to go camping in the backyard?"

"Yeah," she said. The smile in her voice sounded more genuine now. "And Mom would come out to give us cookies, and we'd get mad because that wouldn't happen on a _real_ camping trip."

"I'd always catch more fireflies than you," he said, and she snorted.

"Have you caught any Pokémon yet?"

"No, not yet—the Cherrygrove mart is out of Poké Balls. I've fought some, though! Cyndaquil's great, the best friend I've ever had. Besides you, of course," he blurted, blushing when he heard her laugh.

"Hey, I've gotta go," she told him softly. "I've got to transcribe all these notes by tomorrow or Elm's gonna kill me."

"I should go to sleep anyway," he said. "Big day tomorrow."

"Right," she agreed, and they sat on the phone in silence for a moment.

"Um...Lyra?"

"Yeah?"

"I miss you."

On the other end of the line, the pencil taps stopped. "I miss you too," she said, and Ethan's hands squeezed around the phone, as if he could somehow bring her closer. "You'll be back tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah," he replied. "I will." He didn't mention what was going to—_might_—happen after Professor Elm's errand was done, and neither did she.

"Good night, Ethan," she said.

"Good night," he replied, and she hung up.

It was stupid, but the fact that the same sky, the same air, hung over them both was comforting. Instead of Mareep, Ethan counted stars until his vision faded, lulled to sleep by his Cyndaquil's whuffling snores.


End file.
